Accidents on Your Doorstep
by Cynmia
Summary: Canadian Chronicles: Nova Scotia. It's December 1917, and Canada's family is over for a very early Christmas when, typically, disaster strikes. Personified provinces; FACE. You'll need a magnifying glass and the right frame of mind to seeing pairings.


**Accidents on Your Doorstep**

_1917_

- part i

He had woken up to a clear morning. The sun had yet to rise, he mused as he went through his morning duties, but upon looking out the kitchen window, he could see it was just hovering below the horizon of the Moncton skyline. The cool and crisp air of the early December morning slowly crept into the room as he opened a window.

Matthew sighed and returned to making his pancake mix. The young personification of Canada was hosting his 'family' on his own land for the first time in a long time, and he wanted to make a good breakfast for their first non-business related morning together again. War had – and still did, really – separated and occupied the four of them to no end, and he was grateful for this chance to spend time with them again, without the raging war in Europe to ruin it.

Humming his national anthem under his breath, Canada poured the finished pancake mix into the skillet, and did not look away from his cooking when he heard his brother's shuffling footsteps behind him. "Good morning, Alfred," he greeted his brother, flipping the pancake.

"Mornin', Matt. Are those pancakes I smell?" Alfred moved almost directly behind him and looked over his shoulder and into the pan, taking a deep breath and sighing contently at the sight and smell of Matthew's pancakes.

"What do you think? But yeah, I'm treating you guys to a full breakfast today. Pancakes, bacon, all of that." He lifted the skillet and let the beautiful, fluffy pancake slide onto the empty plate he had prepared. "What are you doing up so early? It's seven in the morning; you never get up this early, Al."

"It was the pancakes, bro, the pancakes."

Matthew shot his twin a sceptical look, and hit the other's hand when it reached for the plate with the pancake. Alfred laughed sheepishly, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, alright! Jeez, it's cold in here." America avoided his northern brother's question for a moment to move and close the kitchen window.

"Answer the question, Alfred."

He grimaced, and put up his hands in front of his brother to ward the Canadian off, who had actually turned to face him. "Okay! It's just, something woke me up, and really, it might have just been the cold air! Don't worry too much, Mattie, it doesn't really bother me." Alfred said hastily at the look on his twin's face, though he was lying through his teeth about not being bothered by the cold. The American _really_ disliked the cold.

Matthew sighed. His brother was so predictable, but at the same time, he appreciated Alfred's sentiment. "If you say so, brother. But if anything else makes you … uncomfortable, tell me, please. It's Canada… My place, and New Brunswick's place at that." Alfred nodded, and reached for the plate of pancakes again. The American's hand was batted away again.

"Shoo. Get away from my pancakes and go wash up, you greedy brother of mine. You probably just rolled out of bed, didn't you?" Canada chuckled as his brother pouted, and resumed his pancake making as America wandered away to get cleaned up.

He had just finished with the pancakes and bacon when Francis walked into the kitchen, yawning and running a hand through his unusually messy hair. The personification of France normally took great care of his appearance, but the war had redirected his attention and energy to his country and defending it from the Germans. France looked incredibly beat up since he had been involved in the war from the very beginning, in comparison to America, who had only joined the Allied war effort eight months prior in April.

"_Bonjour_, François." Matthew greeted his fellow francophone, turning to place the plates of pancakes and bacon onto the table. Francis grinned at him cheerfully, and grabbed the cups of coffee, tea, and the other drinks that the little family liked to have for breakfast.

"_Bonjour_,Mathieu. Did you sleep well, _cher_?"

Matthew smiled and nodded, but gently pushed at the older man's arms after he had set down the cups. "I should be the one asking you that question, François. Did _you_ sleep well?" he asked, fussing around the other blond as Francis casually leaned against the counter and yawned. The circles under the Frenchman's eyes were prominent, as was his entire weary posture, but he still responded with a smile.

"Of course I slept well, Mathieu. Who would not, what with this comfortable environment and lovely roommates?" Francis winked at the Canadian, and the latter raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, dear." Matthew had to bite back his smile. "I hope you didn't bother Arthur too much – perhaps I should have had you share a room with Alfred?"

Francis' eyes widened and he gasped dramatically, "How could you accuse me of bothering our _cher_ Arthur? I'll have you know that I was quite well behaved last night." He opened a drawer and began to take out the breakfast utensils.

The younger man frowned, quickly put down the bottles of jam and syrup he had been holding, and rushed over to intercept Francis. "Hey, that's not your job. I don't really know what you mean by 'well behaved', by your terms at least, and I don't really think I want to know. What you could do right now though, instead of doing my job, you could go tell Alfred that breakfast is ready and … go wake up Arthur."

Matthew refused to let the silly grin overtake his face as he said the last part of the request, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement anyways. Francis, however, had no qualms or issues with letting his own smile light up his entire face. An opportunity to bother – err, wake up – Arthur!

"_Merci_, _mon__ cher_. I will enjoy this." Francis handed Matthew the cutlery with his odd 'ohonhonhon' laugh and walked out of the kitchen, taking large bouncy strides that did nothing to hide his mood.

The Canadian weakly called out after his friend. "Just don't overdo it!" He shook his head and laughed quietly, returning to the kitchen counter to finish his breakfast preparations.

It was almost 8 o'clock.

- part ii

They had spent nearly an hour eating Canada's delicious full breakfast and chatting to catch up with each other. Both the two European nations and the two North American nations had agreed to not talk about war during their little get together, since the rest of the time they had recently been together was spent almost entirely on war.

"_Mais_, where would you like to celebrate _Noël_ then, Arthur, if not out of _l__'__Europe __en__ guerre_?" asked Francis curiously, taking a sip of his black coffee.

Arthur frowned. "Not all of Europe is currently a battlefield, France, though I suppose you wouldn't know that." The representative of England – and the United Kingdom, actually – was still a bit upset at the long-haired blond waking him up. They were grown men for goodness sake! His ribs still hurt since Francis had accidentally kneed the Englishman in the chest when the other had jumped onto him and his bed. But he wasn't really itching to pick a fight with the other, really! Their kids – err, their younger brothers – were watching them, and they were at the breakfast table. No, there would be no arguing between him and Francis today.

Arthur sighed and answered the Frenchman properly. "There are still quite a few European countries out there that are not yet participants in the war. We could take a vacation outside of our home countries and –"

Alfred cut across the Briton with a mouthful of pancakes, "Yeah, but Artie, its family time! We should be spending time with family at home! And, you know, one of our homes." The American swallowed and then grinned. "One of my cities would be great, you know. The United States is amazing around Christmastime and not too cold… in most places." His bright expression was accentuated by his growing Hollywood smile.

Thick eyebrows raised and green eyes bore into the sky-blue ones of the younger blond before closing and Arthur groaned. The lad was actually serious about spending their Christmastime together as a family. He turned to Francis, and was not surprised to see the flamboyant man smiling in agreement. A small cough caught his attention, and all three of them turned to look at Matthew, who had been silent for most of the conversation.

The Canadian blushed at the sudden attention. "I- I just thought you should know that I agree with Francis and Alfred. Family at home…" He paused, and looked back at each of them with violet eyes, "Family at home sounds very nice, eh? Sorry, Arthur."

The Englishman sighed, defeated, and resorted to a nonverbal response by nodding. He looked to his wristwatch: it was ten minutes to 9 o'clock. Were they going to continue this conversation, now that he had backed down and agreed? He opened his mouth to say something, but it appeared to be that today was his day to be incessantly interrupted.

There was a banging sound somewhere outside of the little townhouse, followed by rapid ringing of the doorbell. A paranoid Arthur got up immediately from his seat, posture tense as he turned to look towards the direction of the sound and green eyes glancing at the window every now and then. The peaceful winter scenery of a small, snow-layered city street was all there was for him to see.

Everyone else had gotten up from their seats too, and Matthew stepped towards the doorway of the kitchen and breakfast area, frowning. "That was the front door. Who could it –" He didn't get to finish his question as a series of the quiet clicking of the front door unlocking was heard by the four nations and a young man rushed into the room, trying to catch his breath and falling to his knees, still fully dressed in winter outerwear and dripping melting snow onto the tiled floor.

"Sam!" Matthew exclaimed, and knelt down to panting young man. Alfred, Arthur and Francis all crowded around the two men on the floor, though Arthur kept on looking back to the doorway. "What happened? What's wrong?"

The young man raised shaky hands to run through his dark brown hair and gulped and gasped. "D- Dad – I mean, Angus – he – _mon __dieu_ – ohmygodohmygod – Mattie, please!" He cried, leaning forward into Matthew's warm embrace, whose own arms were beginning to shake.

He could feel the wide-eyed stares of the three men around them. True, they were family, but Samuel, as the personification of New Brunswick, was even more 'family' since they were a part of each other.

"Sam! Calm down, Sammy, c'mon, just tell me what happened to Angus. Samuel!" Matthew raised his voice a notch when he said New Brunswick's human name, and the man jolted and brown eyes opened to look into violet.

"D- Angus – Nothing has happened to him yet, but oh, Matt, the telegraph! The telegraph, _tonton_, the telegraph! And the boats, and Coleman, and the ammunition –" Matthew hurriedly cut across his pseudo-nephew (because really, the other looked older than him) as it was getting a bit hysterical.

"Breath, Sam, breath! Now, say it slowly – what is this about Angus? And this telegraph, what are you talking about, Sam?" The blond-haired man helped New Brunswick into the closest seat at the breakfast table, which happened to be England's, and sat down in his own. Matthew shot Arthur a grateful look, who returned it with a small smile, and the Canadian went back to Samuel again.

The New Brunswicker sucked in a breath to calm down. He had to say it clearly, and quickly, too, because he was sure it would affect Canada by the off-chance that it became something big. "I'm not too sure about Angus… but his heart condition is going to act up."

"Is going to?" Alfred piped up from his seat; the American and Francis were sitting again, and Arthur was hovering by Matthew worriedly.

"You mean –" Matthew's eyes, enlarged slightly behind his glasses, bore into his province's, "You mean something's happening at Halifax? Samuel, what did the telegraph say?" The last time Angus' arrhythmia had acted up was when they had worked too hard during the American Civil War.

Tears sprung in Samuel's eyes. "It was from a railway dispatcher in Richmond, in Halifax. A passenger train from Saint John was reaching Halifax, and he warned them…" He breathed in deeply again. "That a munitions ship was on fire, by Pier 6 in Halifax." Samuel didn't mention that the dispatcher would probably die if he had sent the telegraph from Richmond. He didn't need to.

Both Matthew and Francis swore loudly, to the surprise of the anglophones, and the latter even banged his fist on the table. "_C__'__est __le__ Mont-Blanc,__ oui?_" Francis asked the younger blond man, and Matthew nodded.

"And probably the Norw –" The Canadian gasped as a spike of pain went through his head, and he momentarily saw dark spots in the corner of his vision.

His brother Alfred stiffened, senses suddenly hyperaware. "Matt?" Beside him, Samuel sat up straight, too, and everyone's eyes were staring worriedly at Matthew.

"Norwegian _Imo_!" Canada managed to spit out before his cry became one of pain, and both hands went to his head, clutching at his eyes and ears. Blood filled the Canadian's mouth as he bit his lip to stop himself from screaming aloud at the pain in his eyes and ears, and all he could hear was a loud roaring sound like rushing blood, but not. Beyond the roar of noise, he could faintly hear the others calling his name.

"Ma – ew – att – ie!"

There was nothing but unidentifiable sound in his head and the broken record of the thought 'ithurtsithurtsithurts'. His vision had been a bright glaring white when the pain had first hit, but now it was all dark and nothing – was he blind? Matthew did not know if the liquid seeping from his eyes was blood or tears; maybe it was both. All that he did know, blind and half deaf and slipping off his chair, was that his head hurt too much, and that hitting the ground was absolute bliss as he fell unconscious from the impact to the back of his skull.

"Matthew! Mattie!"

Alfred jumped out of his chair to get to his twin; Samuel stayed horrified in his seat, wrapping his arms around himself and closing his eyes as he felt the ripple of sound that emanated from the dropped boulder that was the exploding _Mont-Blanc_, reaching out from Halifax to the rest of Nova Scotia and now catching up to his own province of New Brunswick. Just how big was this explosion?

The sound of the blast rumbled through Moncton and the little house shook for a moment, making their dishes clatter and startling France to grab the table with both hands while England reached for a chair. America was still crouched on the ground clutching his northern brother, trying to get a response from Canada who was lying limp on the floor.

The house stopped shuddering. Taking in the scene before them, both Francis and Arthur cursed and swore a long string of explicit words in their respective mother tongues and rushed in to help.

- part iii

When he woke up, everything was hazy, and other than the small headache he had, he was comfortable. The Canadian mused that he was probably lying in his bed.

He wasn't fully awake, but he wasn't sure of that either. Matthew had felt his eyes open halfway, but he could see nothing.

Like before, he eventually remembered, listening to bits and pieces of the conversation around him. At least his hearing appeared to have returned.

"… happened exactly?"

"… easy to assume … information … reaction … what Francis knows."

"Alright … on fire … then?"

"… were yelling … fire spread … entire thing exploded. The North End of Halifax is probably flat by now."

New Brunswick's last sentence woke Canada up completely. "What?" He asked roughly, his throat somewhat dry, and the young nation tried to sit up on his bed. He was off balance, though – when was the last time he had been completely blinded? As personifications, their injuries and physical issues were temporary most of the time due to their quick healing and near-immortal body. Some of them still left scars, though, and that was why he and his twin wore glasses.

Sitting up hurt. The blinded man gasped; he might as well have experienced the explosion first hand, but he knew that Nova Scotia must have felt it more than he did. It was in Halifax, after all, and his province's heart had always been a bit of a worry ever since the other developed arrhythmia after Acadia died.

"Mathieu!" The man in question more or less felt Francis exclaim his worry and joy and rush over to support him. Matthew felt emotional tears forming in the corners of his eyes as the other long-haired blond hugged him lightly and placed a kiss into his hair, and he felt Francis' stubble brush his scalp.

Canada blinked rapidly, though he did not know if he was trying to hide his tears or regain his sight. It didn't appear to work as a tear slipped down his cheek and he felt someone press his folded glasses into his hand. From the hitched breath, it was probably America; neither England nor France were known to even approach the 'I want to cry' stage, and New Brunswick was even stronger emotionally than he was!

"Br-bro… Can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?" There was a rustling movement in front of Matthew, but while he knew Alfred had probably raised his arm in front of his face, he could not see anything.

"Knowing you, probably two fingers. …Or was it four?"

America sucked in a breath and bit his lip, looking away from their family and towards the blank wall of the bedroom. He was willing himself not to cry. '_Don__'__t__ cry,__ don__'__t__ cry,__ Mattie__'__s__ not__ the __only__ one __in __the __room__ right __now.__Heroes__ don__'__t __cry. __You __can__'__t __cry. __Don__'__t__ fucking__ cry!_'

Someone sat on the mattress at the foot of his bed, and another walked over in short strides to come up next to the two brothers and Francis. His breath smelled of tea, so…

"Arthur." Matthew tilted his head up to where he felt the Englishman's soft breath. All the other senses got so, well, sensitive once you became blind. He figured that was probably the case for whichever sense you lose, but he knew he would never get used to it. He hoped he would never get the chance to get used to it.

"Arthur, what was it that was easy to assume?" Matthew asked, and cocked his head to the side, dislocating Francis from his position and startling Arthur with his question. He did not know it, but the Briton had been stricken at the sight of his ex-colony's blank, blind eyes. They stared, but they could not possibly see...

Samuel answered for Arthur. "What had happened to the ships, _tonton_. From the telegraph, we already knew that the munitions ship caught on fire. And then France told us about what and how much it had been carrying…"

Matthew stiffened. He had kept track of the incoming and outgoing military things ever since the war had started, and knew what was on the Mont-Blanc. There had been benzol, picric acid, TNT, and even gun cotton on that ship; Samuel's words from before would probably be right. Richmond must have been flattened by the explosion.

"You're not hurt, are you Sam? The explosion didn't affect you? What about PEI? Is Edward okay?" the Canadian quickly asked the New Brunswicker, a worried look on his face. The other began to shake his head before catching himself and responding verbally.

"I'm alright; it was just the explosion's sound that travelled. So Eddie should be fine." Brown eyes peered at the bed-ridden nation, who actually began to remove the blankets that were pooled in his lap. Square-frame glasses had been quickly transferred to Canada's breast pocket as he untangled himself from the covers.

Alfred got up from his kneeling position. "Hey, what're you doing?" he asked as his northern neighbour swung his legs off to the American's side of the bed and made to get up. "Oi! Mattie!"

Francis, who had been watching the entire interaction with curious eyes, raised his hand as if to stop Matthew from getting up, but the latter was already standing by the time he had reacted. "_Cher_, _non_, you are going to hurt yourself if you cannot see anything. Come back to bed."

"I must agree, Matthew. You are, at the moment, completely blind, and from that fall you took from your chair, I would not be surprised if you had a concussion." Arthur made his input, large eyebrows furrowing to create an almost-unibrow. He could not remember the last time his Canadian ex-ward was this blind, vulnerable, or stubborn.

The three countries and the province watched as Canada took a couple of hesitant steps before stumbling. Instantly, America's arm shot out to steady his brother, and Canada quivered and gasped a little in his dark, spinning world. Eventually he steeled himself and turning around to face his family, although he was angled a bit too much to the right.

"Well, if you're not coming with me, I'll go and see," He blinked sightlessly at his own words before smiling, "I'll go and check up on Angus – Nova Scotia – myself."

Samuel stood up from his seat at the foot of the bed. "I'll go with you." It was his dad, after all. Not to mention, the brunet could already sense his pseudo-uncle's mood on this situation, and nothing was going to shake the Canadian off of the idea of going to find Angus. "You need someone to help you around now that your eyesight is temporarily gone."

Matthew smiled gratefully in the direction where he thought he had heard his province's voice come from. New Brunswick had always been the good one, in comparison to, say, Ontario and Quebec.

He felt the hand on his shoulder tighten its grip for moment before relaxing. Unbeknownst to him, his twin brother had shot the two Europeans a look that caused Arthur to groan and Francis to rub at his face tiredly. "What's going on?" The Canadian asked, and the question hung in the air.

Alfred leaned in and spoke near his ear. "We're coming with you. You know that the hero never leaves anyone in trouble alone."

A soft 'ohonhon' echoed through Matthew's bedroom as Francis approached with Arthur beside him. "You know that we would always accompany you, _chéri_ Mathieu. Do not doubt us." The Englishman made a noise of agreement and another hand made its way to Matthew's other shoulder.

The blind young man smiled tearily, and the five men were soon on their way to Halifax via a relief supply train.

- part iv

Halifax was in ruins.

It had taken them the entire day to get to the site of the explosion, and the sun had already set a few hours ago. It was a cold night, and snow was already starting to fall softly over the decimated city. Few buildings in the North End were still standing, and Samuel was thankful that his father's office and residence was not located in that area. It still took a while to find the office building though, and when the five men finally stood in the littered and lifeless street in front of it, they were all in various degrees of shock.

Matthew was still blind – the injuries of the population must have taken a lot of damage, he mused, and that must have been why his vision had yet to return to him. At the moment, his headache was quite the annoyance, making him dizzy to the point where he was incredibly thankful that either his province or his American brother had a hand supporting him at all times.

Other than Canada, the other three countries were looking at the damage of the city, disturbed at the implications of the power behind the blast. New Brunswick, however, was eyeing a trail of blood leading out of the front door of Nova Scotia's office building.

Samuel bit his lip and frowned. He had to keep his cool; yes, this was his dad, and yes, the imprint of blood smudged on snow was terrifying, but he was not the province most alike to Matthew for nothing. The New Brunswicker was startled out of his thoughts when he saw Matthew's hand groping at nothing in the air before find his right arm. Samuel turned to look at the other Canadian, and was somewhat bothered when sightless lavender eyes were staring back at him, sort of.

"What is it, Sam? You've gone all…" Matthew didn't finish the sentence, as the feeling was still lingering about them in the air. The other men behind the two had turned to observe their conversation.

Samuel sighed. Trust his _tonton_ to catch his mood, even while blinded. "Da- Sorry, Nova Scotia isn't here. The building is only just standing, and, well, there's a trail of blood leading out the front." He said the last part hesitantly.

Canada blinked, and shivered out of cold and worry. "Let's hope his secretary survived and moved him to a hospital. Camp Hill is the closest one, right?" There was a murmur of agreement and they all turned to head east for the war-casualties hospital.

"A couple of blocks is considered _close_?" panted America as they marched past lines of stretchers and moaning injured civilians all over the streets. Canada sneezed twice rapidly and shivered again, grabbing the edges of his coat around him, oblivious to everything except his province's support and the cold that whipped around them in gusts of wind. New Brunswick's grip on his arm tightened as he was steered around a blood-splattered man slumped in the middle of the sidewalk. They were all relieved when they finally managed to enter the busy building.

"We're looking for an Angus Cabot. He's most likely in intensive care," Samuel said to the harried female nurse sitting at the hospital's usual visitor's desk. She stared at him and then at the quartet standing behind him.

Her staring soon turned to a glare. "Sir, pretty much everyone is in intensive care right now due to the explosion. All of our staff are working in operations, and our patient count exceeded one thousand hours ago. You're going to want to be more specific if you want to find and see anyone around here; most of the injured have no identification."

"He's a government official. A representative of Nova Scotia, if you will." Matthew stepped forward and broke away from his twin's grasp, faking a downwards look at the woman. She sneered tiredly back at him, not noticing the blank look in his eyes.

"Do you have clearance, then?" she asked, and both Samuel and Matthew took out their government cards that they had also used to get the group onto the relief train. She gaped at them for a good moment. The foreign country representatives smiled grimly as they watched on. They were wasting time, and honestly, both Arthur and Francis thought Matthew looked too pale for his own good and was shivering far too much.

The nurse hurriedly went through some papers and then produced some information for them. "He's in Room 1206, but the last report, from about three hours ago, says that he only just stabilized after his heart attack and a moment of cardiac arrest." She looked back up at the men, and saw that the two that had showed her their clearance cards were gripping each others' arms tightly. Matthew even had a hand over his mouth, and Samuel had closed his eyes with a look of pain on his face.

"So he was touch-and-go for hours," Arthur stated bluntly, and the Briton turned to his companions. "Come on, then. Let's go see, ah, Angus."

The nurse stood up, frowning at them. "Sirs, I do not suggest that you go visit any of the patients, even Mr. Cabot. The hospital is incredibly busy trying to deal with both the war casualties we're housing and these new victims of the explosion in the harbour, and at the moment visitors are limited to trying to identify kin. I'm afraid that –"

"You're afraid that you're going to lose your job if you don't let us go find the guy," spat Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a wary eye, and later a very concerned one like the European countries when Matthew's shivering got more violent with every word. "Just give us the directions to the room and we'll be out of your hair."

"We are government officials and family, _mademoiselle_. If our _monsieur_ Cabot is unable to see us, we will be the ones to decide that." Francis conjured a red rose from inside his jacket and gave it to the nurse with a wink. "Will you give us the directions, or would you be willing to lead us there?"

The nurse gaped at the rose that was pushed into her hand. Shaking her head, dumbfounded, she stammered the directions to Nova Scotia's room and the five men wandered off through the halls heading for Room 1206.

There were injured soldiers hanging about the hallways, who they found out had given up cots and rooms for the still incoming civilians. The hallways were lined with stretchers like the ones outside of the hospital. England and France did not mind some the gruesome sights they saw as they passed occupied rooms, but America and New Brunswick were somewhat envious of Canada's temporary blindness – some things were painful to look at. There were people with broken bones, severe burns, but the worst, visually at least, were the injuries that had been dealt by broken glass.

Samuel kept wincing at every glass-cut victim he saw; they could now tell that Matthew's blindness mirrored those of many of the injured civilians. Samuel worried for the other province they were going to see, whose office windows had also been blown out.

After twisting through what felt like a dozen hallways, they eventually reached Room 1206, which was silent except for the soft whirring of machinery and the steady breathing of the russet-haired man lying in bed.

Alfred whistled softly, and Francis grinned a little. The latter tried to lighten the mood: "He's got a private room. _C__'__est__ bon, __c__'__est __bon_." Arthur hit himself in the forehead with a hand and groaned at their reactions, but even Samuel and Matthew were smiling a little as the group approached and surrounded the bed.

"He must have stabilized long enough for them to move him to an empty room," Arthur commented as he looked around, and noted the well-wishing cards on the bedside table. He paused slightly when he saw a pile of boxes by the door. "What is that?"

Everyone but Matthew wheeled around to turn to look. There, right of the door, was a small pile of wrapped presents. Alfred chuckled. "I would think a province would have some friends, Artie."

England scowled. "Don't call me that. I just had a thought that they might represent the relief supplies coming in or something. North America had always been different compared to Europe, even with representatives."

Matthew smiled lightly as he took in the shaking blurs of Alfred, Francis and Samuel all laughing at Arthur. His sight was returning to him, bit by bit, and even faster now that he wasn't worrying as much over Angus. Angus, who was stable from the looks of the arrangement, and Angus, who was actually beginning to wake up as the laughing and general hysterics of their family rose higher in volume.

_Merde_, he needed to have his glasses on! It would do not good to worry Angus right when the other man woke up to their laughter; the older man had always been extremely perceptive. The lack of his glasses and the still blank look in his violet eyes could be too much for the family man, since he had just recovered from a heart attack, and from what the nurse at the reception said, cardiac arrest. Matthew hastily went through his pockets and slipped on his glasses, and was thankful that he wasn't shivering as badly anymore.

"Mmmm," groaned Angus lightly, and the personification of Nova Scotia rubbed at his hazel eyes tiredly before sitting up against his pillow. "Who's there?" the man asked gruffly, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

Matthew froze along with the others, who had realized that the old province had woken up. Nova Scotia couldn't have been blinded, right? That was all that was running through Matthew's mind numbly. Halifax was Angus' heart, after all, and he wouldn't have experienced his citizens' injuries because of that fact. But there was nothing to worry about in the end as Angus fully regained consciousness and turned to stare at Matthew who was sitting at the edge of the hospital bed.

"Matthew? Is that you?" Angus asked softly before smiling. "It is you! Oh, it's very nice to see you again, though the setting isn't the best."

It was always great to talk to Nova Scotia, Canada mused as the others came over and they exchanged happy greetings. The man was one of the few provinces and territories that Matthew felt an equal to, since most of his provinces were extremely immature for their supposed physical age.

He watched as the two Maritime Provinces in the room exchange a tearful embrace before everyone settled down around the bed again. They began to talk about the accident of the boats crashing, the following explosion that flattened a great deal of Halifax, and how Angus had fared with the heart attack.

Matthew only commented on a few things, mostly about the actual accident, because he had originally wanted to avoid this topic. It was so easy for them to suddenly swing the attention to him and how he took the explosion and damage to Halifax. It was building up with every other concerned look Angus managed to throw his way, and Matthew could practically see the words on the tip of the other man's tongue even though his vision was still miserably half-blind.

Luckily, Nova Scotia didn't get a chance to ask about his nation. An elderly nurse – thankfully not the one they met from before – had walked into the room with a few more presents in her arms, and stopped at the sight of the four personified nations and one province crowded around her patient.

"Mr. Cabot! What are all these people doing in here? You should be resting, dear, are they bothering you?" The old, greying woman set down the gifts with the others by the door and put her hands to her hips while most of the men gaped at her. Angus, however, merely smiled at the lady and shook his head.

"They are my family, nurse, a part of my family that I haven't seen in a very long while. You'll leave us to finish our talk, yes?" Angus asked the woman, whose expression softened at the word 'family' and nodded, but then she spoke again.

"Only for a couple more minutes though, all right, Mr. Cabot? I'll come back in ten minutes to show them out; you need your rest after what had happened today." She smiled at all of them and left the room.

An awkward silence settled over the group. Arthur resisted the urge to shuffle his feet like an embarrassed child; he felt incredibly awkward around the province considering their history, and he knew Francis probably felt the same. The Englishman decided to end his and his fellow European's part of the conversation now.

"Err, I hate to break this atmosphere –" They all chuckled, considering how tense it actually was, "But I think France and I should step out. We're not as close as the rest of you, and really, I just wanted to tell you that I managed to contact Norway about the explosion via the fairies, and that help from all over the world will be flooding in for the next few days."

Matthew, Samuel, and Angus gaped at the stocky man in amazement. "Really?" Matthew asked, gazing hazily at his ex-guardian, who reddened a little.

"Yes, more help will be coming. But now, France and I will just step out, alright? This is getting increasingly awkward. My apologies, Nova Scotia, Matthew. We'll go fetch some tea for you, yes?"

Ending his less than eloquent speech, he turned to France, who nodded. "_Je__ suis__ d__'__accord_ _avec_ _l__'__Angleterre_. We will go get you some drinks." The long-haired blond didn't get to say any more as England grabbed him by the arm and abruptly dragged them out.

They all stared at the fleeing Europeans before returning to look at each other. Samuel spoke up. "Wow. Well, uh, Dad, I'm sure you've heard news of the other relief supplies coming in, right? Besides the ones England had just mentioned, I mean." When Angus shook his head, a bit confused, Samuel smiled. The New Brunswicker gestured at the get-well-soon cards at his father's bedside table, and then picked one up. "See, here, this one is from Edward. It says he heard the blast all the way from his Charlottetown home and that he hopes you're okay."

Angus returned to a lying position under the blanket and closed his eyes, thinking fondly about little Edward, but another thought formed in his mind as the older man finally caught on to what his son was trying to say. The older man gaped slightly, and looked from Samuel to Alfred to Matthew, and then back to Samuel.

"But other than from fellow Maritime Provinces, I still need to contact the central and western provinces. So I'll leave you three to it, alright?" New Brunswick continued, standing up and nodding at Nova Scotia. They didn't have the strongest father-son sort of relationship, but instead, it was something like what Canada and England shared: part fatherly, part brotherly, and something part-friendly.

Angus was a little saddened that Samuel had decided to leave this soon right after seeing him, but it was true, he needed to talk to the two in front of him now. The trio by the bed waved a good-bye to the province as Samuel exited the hospital room.

Once Samuel was gone, Angus turned to the two nations that were still sitting with him. He thought about it for a moment, closing his eyes and feeling his province and the movement of things crossing in and out of his borders.

"You know, I have to thank you, America, for the quick and generous relief supplies your Maxwell delivered when he and his people heard of the accident," Angus said, opening his eyes and smiling at Alfred, who gave a start and blushed at the praise from the older man.

Alfred hadn't understood the provinces' exchange early, but now it made more sense. The personification of the United States had felt a twitch in what could have been Massachusetts, but he had many east-coast states, so Alfred didn't know who had responded to the emergency until Nova Scotia mentioned Maxwell.

"Please call me Alfred, sir; I'm just Matthew's brother," Alfred said with a sheepish smile, and next to him, Matthew scowled at his twin affectionately.

"Then you mustn't call me 'sir', for goodness sake, I only look older than the two of you. The name is Angus, so use it." Nova Scotia laughed as Alfred just continued to blush uncharacteristically.

"But really, it was good of Maxwell to do that, sending materials and people here so fast in response to the explosion. Give him my thanks, alright? And tell him I'm expecting more in the next few days." Angus chuckled while Alfred's already red face deepened in colour, and Matthew, at that moment, wanted to be able to see clearly again so badly, because the blurry version of the American's red face was not enough.

Matthew gave his thanks to his twin, too. "So yeah, thanks Al. Without you, Massachusetts, and all those others that Norway managed to contact, we'd be in a tough place, especially with this blizzard setting in tonight." He punctuated the thought with a quiet sneeze, and broke into quiet laughter at the irony.

Alfred joined him, though he was still incredibly embarrassed. "Aha! It was nothing, really, we're just doing it for our northern neighbours and Mattie…" He drifted off, and looked away from his brother, his face burning red again. Why would he not stop blushing!

Angus smiled knowingly, and then the nurse came back to fuss over the man and kicked the twins out for the night.

- part v

_1971_

He took a sip from his mug of hot chocolate and sighed contently when the liquid went down his throat and warmed him from the inside out, though the old radiator underneath the window had already warmed him up quite a bit. He licked his lips, savouring the delicious chocolaty taste.

He glanced out the large paned window and smiled contently at the sight of the gigantic Christmas sitting out in the grand expanse of the Boston Common. The Canadian's smile grew when he saw, in the reflection of the glass, Angus and Maxwell sitting at the coffee table behind him and his brother talking and smiling over a couple of drinks. He turned his gaze back to his twin, who was watching a couple of people play outside in the snow around the Nova Scotian Christmas tree.

"Thanks again, Al. Who knows where I'd be without you, eh?" Matthew said to his brother standing next to him by the window. This was practically a continuation of their conversation many, many years ago back in that Halifax hospital and when Matthew and Angus had sent their first tree to the Bostonians.

Alfred laughed, and looked back at his brother, smiling gratefully at the sight of clear purple eyes behind familiar square frames. "Hey, don't mention it. You're my bro, and that's what bros do for each other. This tree of yours, though… it's awesome. Even better than the one you and Angus sent us in 1918, though that one…"

"Had a particularly sentimental meaning, yeah. The first Christmas after the end of the First World War…" Matthew quirked his lips.

The American closed his eyes and just let himself enjoy the shared warmth of the moment.

"Eh, well, I'm sorry that we didn't send any trees since then. So just expect one from us every Christmas now, okay?" In the window pane, he could see his province tell Massachusetts the exact same thing, and had to bite back laughter at the state's stricken expression. Alfred, on the other hand, appeared to be frozen with a relaxed expression.

Matthew grinned, and slowly pried his brother's mug out of stiff hands. "I'll go get us some more hot chocolate."

The grin on his face grew as he walked away, humming a carol under his breath, and soon he practically heard Alfred jolt awake and chase after him, calling.

"W-wait, what? Mattie, come back!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** My second completed Hetalia fanfic. The first one still needs to be edited, since it was written in a rush under pressure. Uhh, this is the first of my Canadian Chronicles (xD lame I know - I'll be changing it later), and the main province or character in question is Nova Scotia. Art for this fic can be found on my tumblr (askmatthieu) within a day of posting. Also, this was written as a school assignment originally, so the lack of their usual personality (and increased usage of the word 'personification') was the result. Plus, _editing_.

The Halifax Explosion was caused by miscommunication that led to the crashing of two boats - the Norwegian relief _Imo_ and the French munitions ship _Mont-Blanc_. By crashing, sparks were created that lit the benzol on _Mont-Blanc_, and a fire started on the French ship, later causing the explosion. The North End of Halifax (Richmond) was flattened and people were killed, blinded, injured, etc. If they were not killed in the blast, by injuries, or fire, they would die of drowning (a tsunami formed in the harbour) or they froze to death due to one of the worst blizzards in the history of Halifax setting in the night of the explosion. Halifax received relief from all over the world, but most notable to the city and civilians were the people, help and supplies from Boston, Massachusetts, for various reasons, and thus the province of Nova Scotia would send a Christmas to Boston every year after 1971.

Any more history you want to know? xD

(Unexplained) OCs: Edward (Prince Edward Island), Maxwell (Massachusetts), Anders (Norway)

For the French, please note that I'm not a native French-speaker, and in fact have had little education in the French language. So excuse any errors. Thanks!

Main Translations (_French_ to English):

Bonjour - (in this case) good morning

Noël - Christmas

l'Europe en guerre - warring Europe

tonton - uncle (familiar)

C'est le Mont-Blanc, oui - it's the Mont-Blanc, yes?

chéri- dearest

Je suis d'accord avec l'Angleterre - I agree with England


End file.
